Mission Cupcake

It is approximately 11:13pm. I am squeeging the condensation off the inside of my window while waiting for the red light. The dark-haired, scruffy man driving the car behind me searches desperately for something else to stare at. This is the second dark-haired, scruffy driver to do so today.

Roughly two hours ago I labored on the treadmill to burn 250 calories so that I may enjoy a tasty confection.

Proceeding through the red light I near my objective: the grocery-specifically the cupcakes, therein.

I arrive dressed in navy pinstripe suit pants, a beige printed t-shirt featuring a red space ship stylized as a sake label, brown loafers without socks, and a wool overcoat. The incongruence (that word is mine, you will pay me to use it) being that I have not come for baby formula. A man crosses the parking lot parallel to me reciting his shopping list into his flip phone. Flip phone? Really?

Due to the late hour, I must enter through the exit. I nearly walk into someone to divert the attention of all away from my costume. Briskly, I walk to the bakery.

"That is entirely too many cupcakes," I utter aloud within ear shot of two off duty clerks. They, their shaved heads, and dirty work out clothes depart with no audible response. Realizing I am looking at the "party" cooler, I scan the displays in the aisle and locate my quarry.

It started with donuts. Last night a business associate recounted a tale of hypoglycemic shock and salvation in a box of donuts. Earlier this evening a friend tweeted me about her box of donuts. The pressure mounted, and finally crested when yet another tweep declared the cupcake man's greatest achievement, above fire and the wheel.

That was the straw.

As I munched my healthy and tasty dinner, I began to obsess over the sweet, chocolate cake which was absent from my tongue. The sticky and almost sickly sweet icing I was not licking from my lips. How I had a birthday this year, and every year with a birthday in it should be celebrated.

Arriving at the check out I prepare my excuses.

"Cupcakes, what cupcakes?"

"Oh, they're not for me. I have a friend. He needs cupcakes. It's some medical thing."

"You know kids... (I have no kids, sadly)"

"Drugs? No! Why?"

"Well, a cheesecake would have been ridiculous for just me, don't you think?"

All are unnecessary, as the grubby duo from the bakery have created a diversion. Sweet.

Once home, I review my purchase and find ingredients but no nutritional information. I am consuming unknown calories! I'd better have just two.

11:19pm. Omnomnomnom